The Omicron Tapes
by the mechanical donkey
Summary: A seemingly normal investigation turns out to be rather deadly. Can they sift through the lies to discover the truth? Our favorite crime fighting duo do whatever it takes to make it out alive.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Property of Fox.

A/N: Since no one ever reads these little notes, we shall press onward.

Chapter 1

This disaster we ended up in started with those fucking tapes. They have become my ticket to freedom and a death sentence at the same time. In hindsight, I wish I never opened that god damned package sitting on my desk. I might as well have opened Pandora's fucking box. The content of those tapes is the kind of shit that will get a man killed. I needed to find the dirty fucker who set me up to be labelled as a 'rogue agent' and put me on the hit list of every inter-governmental agency in the United States. I'll find him, and I'll kill the bastard.

"Get down!" I hollered. Without protest, she ducked behind the SUV tire. Adrenaline surged through my body. The only thing that I could hear was the blood pounding in my head, and the all too familiar sound of automatic weapons being fired. Bullets whizzed past us as we crouched behind the standard issue FBI vehicle. I knew that there were integrated transmitter systems placed in the vehicle. It was so the FBI could track down and monitor the location of their agents at any given time. I figured that I would have a fifteen to twenty minute window before the Bureau figured out that I dumped the vehicle in west rural DC, along with both of our cell phones giving Bones and me the edge to make a run for it. My time frame was slightly off...

By the sounds of it, I guessed that there were maybe two men firing at us. I could see where shooter number one was prone behind the white warehouse oil tank. I could see his black combat helmet poke up over the white support beam of the tanker. His firing ceased momentarily. That stupid fucker prairie dogged one last time before I put a bullet right through his forehead. Blood spattered at the force of the impact of the bullet. His head flung back, bending his neck at impossible angles.

Shooter number two was hard to spot in the overcast night sky. I spotted him crouched beside the aluminum panel of the warehouse. I shifted around to the front bumper. I fired my 9mm Beretta, (also FBI standard issue) and saw the shooter slump forward. In that instant, I saw the blood spray, I felt something forceful knock me back a few steps, and then I felt the searing pain. In a fraction of a second, it registered in my mind. I was shot. She poked up when she heard me grunt, then moan. "Booth!" she called my name. I retreated behind the flat truck tire and she began to crawl towards me to assess my wound which was oozing a steady flow of blood. I stopped her dead. "There's a third shooter, stay put."

I was breathing heavily and sweat cascaded down my entire body. It was a combination of the immense pain I was in, and the adrenaline that was flowing freely through my veins. I peered under the SUV to see if I would be able to find this shooter. A glint of metal on the rooftop was his giveaway. Bingo. The Big Guy must be on my side tonight. I stood up from behind the SUV and unloaded at least 6 rounds in his direction. Silence. Followed by a heavy metal object falling from the tin roof. It was his sniper rifle. I slumped down beside her, completely spent.

"Booth, we need to keep moving. We have to get out of here now." She said. The urgency was evident in her voice. I willed myself to nod in agreement. She knew that I was burned out. A result of the adrenaline wearing off and my increasing blood loss. My breathing was laboured, and my lungs were stinging. My chest was heaving with every gasp I was struggling to take. She pulled my blood-soaked jacket off. My white oxford button-down shirt was now red with my own blood.

She felt my chest, "It looks as though the bullet pierced between anterior deltoid and the pectoralis major. It doesn't appear to have struck the subclavian artery." She stated flatly, as she felt my back "An exit wound. I think you'll need medical attention very soon, but you'll be okay for now if we keep direct pressure on the wound."

She removed her scarf and wrapped it tightly around my shoulder. I grunted as she wrapped the tourniquet tightly around my arm. She squatted beside me with a hand on my forearm. She looked at my weary eyes, and without her speaking a word, I knew what she was saying. I nodded at her and struggled to get to my feet. We ran off into the night without even looking back.

Two weeks earlier:

I strode into her office at approximately 12:45Pm. She sat at her desk completing paperwork (probably another dead end limbo case). I slapped the file down on her desk and she jumped slightly.

"A simple 'hello' would have sufficed." She stated.

"I'll remember that for next time." I retorted. We were still in the midst of a 'mild' disagreement. Brennan and I have always had a good reputation for taking down the bad guys, but that woman could be frustrating.

"I thought we finished the case, what's this all about?" she gestured towards the manila folder.

"It's new. Highly sensitive. Some Washington bureaucrat goes missing, and his body turns up ten days later shoved in a culvert in Canada." She raised her eyebrows.

"No missing persons file in the database?" she questioned.

"Nope. It's a highly sensitive case. The Bureau wanted to handle this given that he's former CIA, turned pencil pushing prick to the White House Advisor Council. I guess someone's gotta make the decisions for the ass holes who are supposed to make the decisions for the President. No known family either. He had a wife but she died in '94."

"Why are we taking the case then? If it's been labelled as 'sensitive' then is it wise for the Bureau to contract out to the Jeffersonian?" she asked quizzically.

"I've got the security clearance, and we've got the track record of success. That's all the answers I needed." I replied.

"Robert Gauley, born July seventeen, 1956." She read the case file out loud, "Why the hell did he end up in Canada? And who would want him dead in the first place? He's not exactly a dominant political figure."

"Well, we're just gonna have to take a little trip and find out now, won't we?" I quipped. She glanced up at me from the folder, and shook her head a little bit.

"I'll get Angela to hold my mail." She breathed out a sigh.

"There we go, that's the spirit. Let's go solve us another murder, Bones."

A/N: I bet you won't read this note either. I'll see how long it takes me to get bored of doing this.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Property of Fox

A/N: 8ish months between chapters works for me.

Chapter 2

The plane ride was cramped and hot. I always say that there's nothing better than being crammed like sardines in a tin can thirty-thousand feet in the air. Leave it to Bones to argue with me on that too. I appreciate her genius superpowers for solving murders, but when I was already in a pissy mood, her logic served only to make me more annoyed.

"It's fair to assume that the sardines have it a lot worse off than you Booth. Not only are they deceased and decapitated, they are also immersed in salt water. Deductive reasoning indicates that you are none of those things." She stated matter-of-factly.

"It's a commonly used metaphor, Bones." I shot back.

"Well it doesn't make sense." She said, brows furrowed.

"Sometimes phrases don't have to, now will you relax and eat your peanuts or something?" My last statement was an attempt to divert the conversation off a cliff so we would never have to return to it.

"I disagree with airlines serving nuts on flights. Statistics indicate that a large portion of the population have some type of allergy to nuts. And being in such a confined space can increase the risk of the exposed to go into anaphylactic shock. The likelihood of finding an epi-pen is minimal since security is quite strict about bringing needles on to the pl..."

"Stop. Just, stop." I interrupted. I could feel the front of my head pounding and the sensation was rapidly spreading behind my eyes. It had been a long week already. I looked at my watch to see when we would be landing, and if it was soon. I glanced over at her for the briefest of moments. But it was long enough to see her arctic ice coloured eyes scanning the article in her academic journal. My first thought was that she was amazingly beautiful, which was quickly squashed down due to its inappropriate nature. My first thought was replaced by a second thought. I was wondering if she ever ditched the academia and brain stimulation for a day, hell, even an hour, to do mindless activities like be entertained by cartoons or watch clouds pass by. I'm fairly certain that it never happened. Bones wouldn't be Bones without her sexy brain.

We finally touched down in Toronto late in the evening. I hate night-time flights, but late or not, we were headed out to the lab where the evidence was. I called the homicide director with the RCMP and informed him that we on our way. Another hour of waiting for luggage, rentals and figuring out GPS co-ordinates we arrived. Evidence from the crime scene was collected, bagged and tagged when we got there. The squints were usually pretty picky about evidence and what was included, but it was good enough for Bones to comment.

"I must say that I'm rather impressed with the RCMP's crime scene investigation unit. They appear to be highly efficient in contrast to the FBI."

"Take it easy will ya? They still write my pay checks. I know the Bureau tends to cut corners sometimes Bones." I say as I adjust the waistband of my suit pants. The Canadian squint-in-charge came out of his office and introduced himself. He was a short guy, around 5'6", kind of portly, and probably in his early forties. He wore a dark green lab coat that was much too tight and a pair of thick framed large glasses. They were too large for his small balding head. He followed us to the body while discussing his findings of the extent of injuries, possible cause of death, and the dead guy's specs. A fair amount of tissue still remained on the body. It was definitely enough for Cam to analyze. Bones was looking for possible fatal fractures on the victim's hyoid when I noticed a chain imbedded in his chest.

"Bones, what's that?" I pointed to the chain.

"What?" she returned, not sure of what I was talking about.

"This!" I replied as I used the end of my pen to pick it off his chest. It looked similar to the chain I wore around my neck. His was Saint Joseph, mine was Saint Christopher. It dangled on the end of my pen and light glinted off the backside of it.

"Wait! What's that on the back?" Bones asked. She didn't wait for my answer before removing the chain with a gloved hand and flipping in over in her palm. She squinted at the small silver object.

"It has some type of numerical engraving on the back. It is obscured by particulates and post-mortem bodily secretions." She stated. I leaned in close behind her to see if my angle of positioning would help make out the characters... and maybe to catch a whiff of her coconut scented hair.

"Numbers? That's odd. Maybe give it to Hodgins to examine first." I suggested. She nodded in agreement and proceeded with her initial examination of our victim. About twenty minutes later she had finished and we concluded that there was not much we could learn about cause of death until everything was sent back to DC and analyzed by the squints.

We sat in a small restaurant waiting for our meals. The case file was open on the table and she was flipping through the RCMP's crime scene paperwork and images. I glanced up at her as she sighed. Her brow was knitted and lips were pursed. I could see wheels turning in her head, but nothing was adding up.

"What are you thinking Bones?" I asked. She closed the folder.

"Are you getting tired of working with me?" She asked bluntly.

"What? Of course not! What brought that on?" I replied without hesitation.

"When we were at the diner the other day, you said that you were prepared for a change of scenery and that you did not find your work as rewarding as it once was." She recalled. I smiled at her and leaned forward.

"Bones, you know that last case was rough. It took us both on one hell of a ride," I grimaced at what I was going to say next, "I don't like having to kill anyone. Murderer or not. It leaves me unsettled. That's the bottom line. It has nothing to do with you."

She smiled back at me a warm smile. I took that as an unspoken sign of understanding and her trust in me. The waitress interrupted our non-verbal communication by placing our plates of food on the table. Aside from sleep, which was the next task on my agenda, sustenance was my top priority. Airplane cookies and juice only go so far. We ate our food in a companionable silence. I was unsure of what was rattling through her brain, but I was focussed on catching some shut-eye before flying back to DC tomorrow. This murder investigation was on.

A/N: See you in another 8 months. I make no promises for hasty updates.

Disclaimer: Property of Fox

A/N: Hmm...


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